


For K. Part 1 ~ excerpt

by Andymlf



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Fire, Magic, Middle School Flashbacks, Originally Posted Elsewhere, Other, blast from the past, but i am not 12 anymore, creative writing, good stuff minus the ooc fandom nonsense, kinda hereditary-ish but was written before I'd watched the movie, lol, originally intended for bandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:35:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29775576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andymlf/pseuds/Andymlf
Summary: He head the fire before he saw it.





	1. Chapter 1

He heard the fire before he saw it.

It wasn't the pleasant crackling from a campfire, nor the rush of a candle.

It was hungry. 

It roared for blood.

It wanted to eat you alive.

It wanted to destroy all that you had and loved. And it will.

It did.

Miles was the only one who might not have been home. He was the only one who survived, right? Technically, Victor died. He didn't make it. His heart stopped. And that was when they turned on him. It all collapsed on a broken boy with burning clothes.

He was a murderer. He had killed them. All of them.


	2. you'd be so beautiful

Victor was empty. On an empty street, in an empty house, on an empty Saturday afternoon, he was passed out on the couch. He'd forgotten finally. He'd forgotten the pain. The bottles of vodka he'd eagerly downed littered the floor beneath his feet. Some were smashed; he'd been further along in his solitaire drinking game and had no longer cared to place them gently on the floor.

His long eyelashes fluttered open in a drunken and confused daze.

The cacophony of birds outside went on.

A car backfired somewhere down the street.

The yelling of the kids over on the next block sounded around the neighborhood.

The portal he'd opened was still swirling.

The screech of the garage door alerted him of the return of at least one of his parents.

"Shit!" Victor finally realized what their return entailed. He quickly threw the intact bottles into his portal, cringing at the shattering sound on the other side. He made a complex gesture with his hand towards the shattered bottles and they disappeared into the portal. His hands then made a move similar to the one used to signal the end of a music piece, and only the dusty purple remnants of the magical doorway remained in the air.

He sprinted upstairs just as the front door creaked open.

He had managed to sneak into the normal world, if not just for some human interaction, for some stronger liquor. The normals have some far more superior to the magical world. He couldn't have gone into town and bought some, as his parents kept him locked up in his room for the majority of the day, and he had managed to get the portal to transport him back into his living room, which he had not seen for quite some time. It was normal, in this version of time, space, and matter. That's what he told himself.

He was going to be brilliant; the leading expert on the normal world. The world that was free. 

His timeline was the timeline of "what if?" and "what now?". His timeline was inhabited by a group of people who were misguided radicals who wanted to start over for humanity. Not many went with them. Their magic was shunned, so they created an alternate timeline, one approximately one second faster than the normal one. 

No one could escape, and no one could inform any normal of this situation. Victor wished to see the normal world. He thought that normals could use their help. Normals were not to be helped. So Victor was locked up.

***

At 2:45, the fire began.

Victor had left the downstairs window open. As far as he knew, he was the only one in the neighborhood who was locked up. The other kids knew of his existence though, and loved to torment him endlessly.

A match, lit with orange flames, was burning its way through the carpet on which Vic had been drinking.

The flames rapidly spread, climbing onto walls and jumping up and down stairs. No one heard it yet.

The Mr. and Mrs. felt warm as they fell asleep, that's all.

All it was was an air conditioning failure.

Victor was safe, locked away in his room where he could not hurt anyone.

All was well.

And all was well as the flames crept up their bedsheets and soon crawled to their soft cotton sleep shirts and even as they slithered over their charred remains.

All was well.


	3. without me

The fire started as a spark. 

This spark came from the used cigarette butt left near the sporadic alcohol stains on the furniture, left over from the drunken daze that had encircled Victpr minutes earlier. He had been trapped in his own physical prison, and it had gotten to the point when he was building his psychological prison, brick by brick. He turned to his new vices, and he kept his virtues under the same lock and key.

Soon enough though, his problems would be entirely different.

That spark caught the false riches in the living room next, locking up the fragile upholstery in a fiery cage. When the bookshelf finally lit, the close-minded words bound inside cardboard cages released themselves to find a better use for their mechanics in a free spirited poets hands. The words ripped themselves apart, finally destroying the last evidence of their evil handler. Their last sighs of vengeance tore up the walls, spreading the fire to the upper floors.

The floor was being eaten away in Mr. and Mrs.'s room, all but unnoticed by them. The flames had finally made a meal of the hardwood and support beams underneath the second floor, and slithered like snakes to every corner of the master bedroom, determined to entrap their prey before pouncing. The bottom left hand corner of the duvet was the first to catch, and the whole bed was on fire before finally roasting the couple left inside the sheets. They deserved it. They all did.

If there was a chance of escape before, it was diminished by the time Victor woke up. Every door and window in the house was on fire, or already beginning to explode angry shards of glass in every direction, as if the house was finished serving it's purpose as a prison, and had shared this as a collective epiphany. The other houses on the block were now also in danger of self destruction.

The cooler red flames looked like blood oozing from the yellow siding on the tortured house. Bubbling up just like the blood coming from Victor's helpless form on the floor of his bedroom. He had tried to escape out the window, but had gotten burned and cut up too much to bear. The flames approached him, and they had both reached an agreement. The lighter fluid dripped down his hair and down his face, into his mouth and nose, and the flames consumed him.

As the flames feed on his corpse, his blood writes out a message: I hope I -


	4. you don't need this animal

The world was spinning as Victor free-fell through time and space. His body rolled around violently like a restless nightmare, and he could no longer feel his own skin. 

He had thought that dying was the pain he felt the moment the flames and blades touched his skin. When the fire had consumed him. Even when the lighter fluid had dripped into his mouth, eyes, and nose and he choked. He had thought that was it, until infinity unknown, until...he didn't even know.

But he felt the opposite of nothing. His ears rushed as he maneuvered through space and time. He was protected from imploding by his own velocity, but he processed everything he saw. The colors sprawl out in front of him, force-feeding his brain the brilliant light emitted only by stars. The stars are beautiful.

The overload never happened. His brain kept expanding, painfully infinite. It was a container for the universe, taking over every part of his awareness, and leaving him with nothing but stars. He was exploding but never breaking. Nothing could touch him, yet everything reached his very core. The universe was his. He saw everything. 

An explosion of blue and force, an endless abyss. The light twisted around it like it was returning home in a suicidal splendor. A black hole. An event horizon.

Then his mind went blank as the universe spun out all of its light around him. He was a prisoner in both his own body and at the mercy of the universe. He was a bird in a cage of light.

Earth approached in the blink of an eye, and the limp figure collided with the sky as a violent missile and plunged into the ocean, an unknown force was still pushing him along. He saw the sky from deep under the water, and tried to run towards the blue moon. 

It was too dark to see with no sun. There would be no sun for several hours, and somehow it had become the dead of winter. The chill even reached down here. 

At the rocky underground to the order above, ice permeated Earth. When Victor reached the sea floor, the rock underneath and the creatures above prodded and taunted him as he was drowning, but slowly, as if the universe was keeping him alive to torture him. The freeze quickly approached his coiled figure and taunted him, wrapping its way around his arms, legs, and chest and squeezing. Stop. Stop. Stop.

Then, the explosion. The Earth cracked as a whole, and the pressure being built around Victor was released, but instead of shooting up or moving in the violent, jerky motions he had been pulled into before, he floated ethereally up to the ocean surface. For it was an ocean once more as if the ice had been nothing but a dream. Am I dreaming?

He was flying. The clouds were rapidly approaching, and the wind carried him off course. Then, as if hitting, a brick wall, he couldn't move. He was seemingly no longer allowed to fly higher, and he had collided with this wall at such force that he was knocked unconscious.

He fell with a violent kind of grace. It was not in slow motion, but he was not forced back to Earth by anything. It was natural.

But he was snatched. His fall was broken by the force again, and he was sucked back into the aimless movement. and fell again.

This time it was not from the sky, though, and his fall was only a few feet, broken by the soft, familiar fabric of bedsheets and mattresses.

What am I doing here?

Am I alive? Did I even die in the first place?

...

...

...

...

"Hey man, you okay?"


End file.
